I seem to spend the bulk of every weekend at the moment doing very little. And yet I really, really want to do something.
I try to write something. I can never think of something decent to write about.
I think about going out and maybe trying to take photos of something. I can’t be arsed to leave the house.
I try to watch TV. There’s hardly anything on worth watching.
I try to catch up on my sleep. I can’t manage a decently long lie in these days.
I end up wasting my time on the internet while eating rubbish and wondering how I ended up like this.